Sacrifice
by KidKneeGirl
Summary: The team is captured and one member pays the ultimate price. Character death, a little telepathy, and a bit of angst. Very dark and violent. COMPLETE. Please R&R always appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

A/N – Hey everyone. This is by far the darkest, bleakest story I've written yet.

I blame it on the weather (I despise winter). I promise the next one will

be fun and sunny! Enjoy – and all reviews, good and bad, are always

appreciated.

Sacrifice

Chapter 1

Lt. Colonel John Sheppard was cold. The icy dampness of a stone floor seeped through his jacket, and he shivered violently. Opening his eyes, he bit back a groan of pain. Where the hell was he? He lay on his back for a few moments more, realizing that his head was cushioned by something. Reaching up, he felt the coarse fiber of an Atlantis jacket, and he almost smiled. Teyla. She would make sure he was comfortable, even if it was on a hard, cold, stone floor. He expected her beautiful face to hover over his any second now, smiling in relief that he was awake, helping him to sit up.

But no – the room was completely silent. Only the slow drip-drip of water echoed in regular beats. He strained his ears, listening for anything, and, faintly, he thought he heard…..screaming. John sat up, dizziness and nausea almost immediately overwhelming him. Taking huge breaths, he willed his stomach to stop heaving, and his brain to stop pounding. He braced his hands on the hard floor, propping himself up as he looked around the cell.

For that's where he was – in a rather primitive stone cell. Iron bars lined one wall, separating him from another empty cell. A small barred window was the only source of light. A large iron door stood at the far end, encased into the rock of the cave, apparently the only way in or out. The floor was a mixture of stone and dirt, and as he looked closer, he could see dried streaks of blood – fairly fresh.

John Sheppard stood up slowly, using the wall for balance. The room tilted and whirled, and his stomach roiled once more, and he was sure he was going to be sick. He fought against the nausea again, and won – barely. After waiting a few moments more, he leaned down and carefully picked up the expedition jacket. As he turned it in his hands, his eyes spied the patch: a flag consisting of a red maple leaf. Canada. McKay.

"Rodney?" he croaked, although he knew there was no one else in the room. He dropped the jacket, and walked to the iron door. Concern for his teammates now surfaced, and he pounded on the door with his fist.

"Hey! Hey! Open up!" John yelled, ignoring the bruising done to his hand. He shouted a few moments more, then, his mouth dry and his stomach again threatening to revolt, he backed away from the door. Sliding down the wall, he closed his eyes as he sat. He wrapped his hands around his knees, wondering why he felt so terrible.

The clank of the door caused him to forget his pain, and he staggered to his feet. The door swung open to reveal a short man, probably in his late forties. He was black, his hair shaved close to his head, and his eyes dark and hard. He wore a uniform, but there appeared to be no rank insignia, and he was unarmed. He entered the room alone, signaling to two men – guards – to wait, and then shut the door.

"I was afraid that your injuries might prove to be fatal, Colonel Sheppard. However, I see with time that you have started to recover." The man's voice was smooth, almost soothing, and John immediately felt his hackles rise.

"Who are you?" he asked. "And where's my team?" John remained leaning against the wall, his legs trembling from the effort to keep himself upright.

The man remained still, his eyes never leaving the Colonel. "I am Worner, chief interrogator. As for your team – well, that remains to be seen."

John swayed slightly. Chief interrogator. That didn't sound good. Reaching within himself to find some strength, he lunged for the man. The interrogator easily sidestepped John's attack, shaking his head in pity.

"Colonel, you can make this easy, or you can make this difficult. I see you prefer the difficult path. As did Dr. McKay." The man chuckled as John struggled to his feet again, anger clear on his face.

"Where's McKay? What have you done to him?" he demanded. John's eyes narrowed as the man continued to laugh lightly.

"You wish to see your teammate?" Worner asked, a strange glimmer in his eyes. Shaking down his revulsion at the man's gaze, John merely nodded.

"Yes. Now. I want to see him now."

"So be it," Worner said. He banged on the door twice, and with a rattle of keys, it creaked open. John peered around Worner's body to see two guards struggling to carry a man between them. Rodney.

John moved forward, ignoring his dizziness, as the guards dragged the limp form of McKay into the room. He gasped in horror; McKay was practically unrecognizable. His face was beaten and bruised, one eye completely swollen shut. His lips were split, his cheeks and forehead ran with rivulets of blood. As he caught the unconscious scientist, and lowered him gently to the ground, he glared at the interrogator.

"What have you done?" he rasped. The interrogator didn't answer, merely waved his hand again, and two jugs of water and a loaf of hard bread were dropped on to the floor.

"I'm sure you want to catch up with your teammate, Colonel. I'll give you both some time." With a final, feral smile, the man turned and strode out the door. John just watched as the door slammed shut, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

A low moan brought John to Rodney's side, and he grabbed up the jacket, carefully lifting the scientist's head, then placing it back down on the rough cushion. He grimaced as he took in McKay's condition; the man was badly beaten. He took off his own jacket, then tugged his black T-shirt from his pants. Tearing a strip off, he wet one end of the cloth, soaking it in the water jug. Carefully lifting Rodney's head, he squeezed the cloth, letting the water dribble into the scientist's mouth. Rodney responded, automatically swallowing the tepid liquid. He let out another moan before cracking open one blue eye.

"She..prd?" Rodney asked, his voice barely audible.

"Hey, McKay. Be still. I don't know how badly you're injured," John instructed softly. He ran his hands lightly down the scientist's arms and legs, searching for broken bones. He stopped as he saw chafing on Rodney's wrists; the man had been bound, and tightly. As John's hands prodded his ribcage, Rodney groaned and winced, gasping in pain.

"Don't…please…hurts…" Tears pooled in the scientist's eyes, and John immediately pulled his hands away, cursing to himself. He dunked the scrap of shirt again, then dribbled some more water into McKay's mouth as the scientist regained his breathing.

"Rodney, do you know where Teyla and Ronon are?" John asked gently. He wasn't surprised to see the physicist close his eyes and shake his head. "Okay, do you know where we are?" This time he was slightly relieved to see McKay nod once.

"3-5-8," McKay whispered. He closed his eyes again, and John let his friend rest for a moment. P6D-358. At least they were still on the same planet.

He leaned in to Rodney, taking in the bruising, the swelling, and felt rage course through him.

"Rodney. What do they want?" John waited a few long seconds before Rodney reopened his eyes, and frowned.

"Earth," he whispered.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Sacrifice

Chapter 2

"Ronon. Ronon. Please….you need to wake up." Specialist Ronon Dex moaned, Teyla's quiet voice seeming to come from miles away. He felt her soft hand caress his brow, then run down one arm. The jangle of metal on metal sounded, and he frowned. What was that?

He opened his eyes, peering up at the Athosian. She had a small trail of blood smeared on one cheek, and her eyes were worried. As he gazed up at her, she broke into a relieved smile.

"Welcome back," she said. He took her offered hand, allowing her to pull him into a seated position. Reaching out, he carefully touched her injured cheek, his face hardening. What had happened? He pulled his arms up, confused by the weight, then suddenly noticed that they were chained. Wrists and ankles were encased in heavy iron manacles, and a thick chain anchored them both to a wall.

"Where are we?" Ronon growled. Teyla sat back, shaking her head.

"I believe we are still on P6D-358," she answered. "Although I cannot be sure." Ronon only grunted as he studied the room. They were locked in a cell, but the bars were made of wood, and the stone floor was covered with straw. There was a multitude of windows, and he could hear the sounds of people bustling about outside.

"What about Sheppard and McKay?" he asked. Teyla merely shrugged and shook her head.

"I have not seen nor heard anything about them since I woke," she answered. She moved back as he attempted to stand, only to be yanked back down by the chain. He pulled hard, wrapping his hands around the chains, straining to break the bonds, but the shackles were immovable. Sitting back down, he ran his hands over his clothing, looking for a weapon, or a tool. Nothing.

"We have nothing. No weapons. No radio. They even took my shoes," she said, gesturing with one manacled hand at her bare feet. He glanced at his own bare feet, confused. What was going on?

"Ahhh…I see you are awake. We can begin the sale now," said an unfamiliar voice. Ronon and Teyla turned to see a scruffy young man walking towards them eagerly. He rubbed his hands together, his eyes lingering on the feminine form of Teyla. Ronon stifled the urge to attack the man, and positioned himself slightly forward instead, blocking the man's view of the Athosian.

"Who are you? And why are we chained?" Ronon demanded. The man ignored Ronon, waving at a small crowd to enter the room. They slowly approached the cage, their voices a low, muddled murmur. Ronon and Teyla's confusion changed to horror as the man's words rolled across the room.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Today, I have two extremely healthy specimens for sale."

oOo

Dr. Elizabeth Weir swore for the umpteenth time that she was never going to let SGA-1 go off-world again. Once again, they were late checking in, which meant that once again, they had run into some trouble. Some serious trouble. They were three days over due – three days!

"Ma'am, we've searched the first city, scanned it with the probes on the jumpers, and we haven't found them." Major Lorne's cool voice echoed through her headset, and she stifled a sigh. Next to her, in the stargate control room, stood Dr. Zelenka and Carson Beckett. Both men had shown up when the team had been declared overdue and had rarely left Elizabeth's side.

"Thank you Major. Proceed to the next area." Elizabeth clicked off the radio as the Major acknowledged her order, and refrained from running a hand across her face. Carson eyed her worriedly; she had been coordinating the search teams day and night for three days now, only grabbing small little snatches of sleep. Now, running on caffeine and adrenaline, she felt her hope starting to slip. Three days, and not a word. Not a sign. Nothing.

"Dr. Weir, I want you to go and get some rest. Now. If there is any word at all, I promise I'll come and get you." Carson laid a gentle hand on her arm, caressing her absently. Not for the first time, Elizabeth wondered why the kind man remained alone. She slowly nodded her head, feeling the fatigue in her bones.

"Dr. Zelenka? You too. Someone else can monitor the data," Carson said. Radek merely lifted his bleary eyes from the computer screen and shook his head.

"Am not tired," he replied. He had been looking over the scans the jumpers had transmitted back to them, hoping that he would spot an anomaly, a blip – anything that the search teams had missed. He watched as Carson's face hardened, and quickly added, "but I promise I will rest for a while if you give me another hour." He held Carson's gaze, both of them knowing his words were a lie.

"Carson? You should go and get some rest as well," Elizabeth admonished. "It won't do for you to be tired when the team comes in." She didn't say that one – or maybe all – of the teammates were perhaps gravely injured – or worse. She didn't need to.

"Aye. I'm going now. Be sure to let me know if ….." he trailed off, his thoughts darkening. He couldn't remember the team ever being this late before.

"I will," Elizabeth promised. He dropped his hand from her arm, and she suddenly missed his warmth. Together, they turned and left the control room, leaving an exhausted Dr. Zelenka to stare at his screens. Waiting. And searching.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Sacrifice

Chapter 3

John stared at the rough stone walls of the cell, his mind churning. Rodney lay sleeping next to him, pressed close to the Colonel for some much-needed warmth. The scientist twitched and murmured in his sleep, his face contorting into periodic grimaces of pain as he clenched at his rib-cage. John could feel an unnatural heat radiating off McKay, and knew that the physicist was rapidly becoming deathly ill. He tugged his jacket over the scientist, doing his best to make the man comfortable.

Between pained breaths, Rodney had managed to relate to John the few details he knew: that they had been captured three days ago as they exited the stargate. That they were questioning Rodney about the location of Earth, specifically what the eighth symbol on the stargate in Atlantis had been. And that Worner and his men were working for the Wraith.

This last bit sent John reeling. Although, he thought angrily, he shouldn't be surprised. They had run into other humans who had struck bargains with the Wraith before; bargains that John doubted the Wraith planned to honor.

Rodney turned again, shivering and groaning, and John rubbed absently at the man's back, trying to offer some comfort. Three days. John had been knocked unconscious when they had been attacked at the gate, slammed in the head by the butt of a gun. The others had been hit with some kind of stun weapon. When McKay had regained consciousness in the confines of the cave, he had spent a few hours trying to revive the Colonel, to no avail. Then, Worner had come, and John had been left alone.

They had questioned Rodney for those three days, only bringing the scientist back to the cell when he had finally lapsed into unconsciousness. They always left water and a loaf of bread, but nothing else. Rodney had managed to joke that it seemed to be true that you can live on bread and water, but his short bark of laughter had erupted into violent coughs. John's heart had nearly stopped when McKay's hacking ended with him spitting up blood.

"S'okay. I'm….okay," Rodney had managed before leaning back and wheezing, his blue eyes clenched shut. He had fallen asleep shortly thereafter, exhaustion finally taking it's toll. John felt his own pain and dizziness subside, replaced by rage. The next time they came to interrogate anyone, it would be John leaving the cave, not Rodney. The scientist had had enough.

"What time is it?" Rodney's question brought John out of his reverie, and he shifted, absently raising his left arm. He frowned as he realize his watch had been confiscated, along with everything else remotely useful.

"Don't know. It's been about six hours since Worner left, though," he answered. He saw McKay flinch at the man's name, then struggle to sit up.

"McKay! Hey…sit still. You're in no shape to be moving around," John admonished. Rodney ignored him, wiggling his body so that his back was braced against the cave wall, and he was shoulder to shoulder with Sheppard. When he finally was sitting up, he breathed a small sigh.

"He'll be here soon," Rodney said quietly. His voice was flat, but his hands continuously twitched in his lap. John reached over and grabbed one of the water jugs, offering it to the scientist.

"What makes you say that?" John asked. He watched as Rodney took a few small sips of water, swallowing with difficulty.

"He seems to know when I'm awake. Cameras, I think. Well hidden." John didn't miss the stress on the word 'I'm'. Rodney sighed again, his hands absently rubbing at his broken rib cage. He stared at the walls, deep in thought for a long moment, then turned back to John.

"Sheppard, if he…takes me again, I'm not sure…I don't think I can….." Rodney trailed off, the normally verbose scientist at a loss for words. John stared hard at his teammate, his own green eyes connecting with frightened blue ones.

"Easy Rodney. You're not going anywhere. Not if I have anything to say about it," John assured him. His gaze remained on McKay, taking in the bruising and beating the man had endured while John lay sleeping on the floor. Rage and hatred flowed through him, and he forced himself to envision the smiling face of Worner. His fists clenched and any remnant of illness or pain vanished.

A clank of the lock, and suddenly, the huge door swung open. The man called Worner strode into the cell, his face grim. John rose to his feet, one hand waving at Rodney, silently telling the scientist to remain seated.

"Dr. McKay. You will come with us," Worner commanded. Two guards marched into the cell, and John stood in front of the scientist.

"No. I'll be coming with you instead," John said. He braced himself, ready to protect himself and Rodney from the two guards. Worner frowned, then made a slicing motion with one arm. The guard nearest to John raised his weapon, and blasted it point blank at the Colonel.

John felt searing pain envelope him, and suddenly he was on the floor, convulsing. He could hear Rodney's cries of distress and anger, could vaguely see the scientist reaching out, trying to get to him. The guard holstered his weapon, then leaned over and yanked McKay to his feet. The physicist cried out again, this time in pain, and he staggered as the two men dragged him out the door.

Worner remained completely silent, his dark eyes riveted on the Colonel. Slowly, the convulsions stopped, but John remained unable to move. He lay on the floor, gasping and trembling, his green eyes glazing over. As his vision faded, Worner leaned over and spat on him.

"Next time you interfere, Colonel, I will cut out his heart as you watch. This I promise." Darkness overwhelmed John, and the last memory he had was of Worner's boots as he strode out the door.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Sacrifice

Chapter 4

"Come closer, folks, and take a look for yourself! This woman is a prime example of beauty and grace, sure to be a wonderful addition to anyone's household." Teyla flinched as the man rattled her chains, yanking her to her feet. Next to her, she could feel Ronon tense, his anger palpable in the small confines of their cage.

Safely on the outside of the cell, the man continued his monologue, encouraging various people to come forward and make an offer.

"Stop! You have no right to……." Teyla's outburst was rewarded with a sharp poke of a stick in her ribs. She doubled over, gasping in pain, while Ronon roared his displeasure. The runner yanked desperately on his chains, his rage adding strength, but it seemed useless.

"Silence! Both of you! I will have you whipped if you do not cease this commotion!" The man glared for a long moment at the two off-worlders, fingering the leather strap at his side, then turned back to the crowd. An older woman, in her early sixties, had timidly approached the cage, and now stood staring at Ronon.

"I need a strong man to do the heavy work on my farm. Chop wood, fetch water, take care of the stock…..how much for the male?" The salesman nodded his head up and down rapidly for a few moments, then, clasping his hands together, spit out a number.

"Five hundred credits." The woman gasped in shock for a moment, then shook her head. "Too much! He is wild – just look at him. It will take months just to train him properly. Three hundred."

The man was already shaking his head, pointing at Ronon with one hand. "He is an extraordinary specimen. You will have many years of hard work from this one…worth every penny. The best I can do is four hundred fifty."

Ronon and Teyla crouched in shocked horror, the weight of the chains nothing compared to the words they were hearing. They were being sold! Slaves! Ronon gazed at Teyla, his own rage mirrored in her brown eyes. Unable to contain himself, he let out a yell.

"I am no man's slave!" Ronon's voice echoed across the room, and the crowd suddenly became deathly silent. The salesman turned, and he reached out and unhooked his whip.

"I warned you." The man jerked his head, motioning for the door to be opened. Ronon gave a caustic grin; just let anyone try to enter the cage. He braced himself, ready to launch an attack, expecting to be removed from the small cell, or for the man to step inside.

Instead, with a quick flip of the wrist, the man cracked the whip. The sharp end, reinforced by some type of razor wire, lashed out at Ronon and he felt the searing pain as the whip cut a long steak down the side of his chest. His jacket was immediately shredded, and blood welled along the gash. Before he could defend himself, the man had snapped the whip twice more, and now deep gashes ran along his left arm.

"Silence! Or the next lash will be for the woman." The man motioned towards a horrified Teyla with his head, and Ronon immediately froze. His chains rattled as he grabbed at the wounded arm, and he staggered on his feet. Only Teyla bracing him kept him standing.

The man turned his attention back to the crowd, and through the roaring in his ears, Ronon could hear him accept the woman's final offer of four hundred twenty five credits. He flinched as his chains were unlocked. Next to him, he could hear Teyla's voice as she protested, then her sudden yelp of pain as the whip lashed out once more. A moment later, he was injected with a large needle, and he felt his world swirl and fade.

Teyla watched as Ronon slumped to the ground, and felt real fear pierce her heart. As he was dragged roughly from the cell, his hands and feet bound once more, she refrained from crying out. Not only were they being sold, but now they would be separated. The chances of them escaping this planet, and finding Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay, were rapidly becoming slim. She clutched at her ribs, still having a hard time catching her breath. Her own shoulder burned from the whip mark, and blood dripped steadily on to the floor.

"Now, for the female," the man said. An attractive woman, her bearing regal, strode out of the crowd, and came up to the bars on the cage. Her eyes swept Teyla from head to foot, frowning at the blood on the Athosian's shoulder. She reached out a hand, grasping Teyla's chin. Angry, Teyla yanked backwards, her eyes sparking a warning.

"How much for the female?" she demanded. The man did his little head bob routine again, tapping his fingers on one hand.

"One thousand. No discounts." The crowd gasped, then surged forward, eager to see how the woman would respond. She paused for a long moment, studying Teyla, then gave one short nod.

"Done. Clean her up and deliver her to the hotel. Undamaged." The woman gathered up her long skirts, then, held still held high, marched from the room.

The man watched her leave with a smile on his face, then turned to Teyla.

"You can be sure I will be your first customer," he advised her with a leer. Teyla stifled a shudder, careful to keep her face neutral. He waved a hand at another man, who unlocked Teyla's chains. He motioned her to exit the cell, and she cast her eyes about, trying to find an exit. Before she could make a move, however, he had grabbed her hands, binding them tightly with length of rope.

Deciding to bide her time, Teyla remained still. Now was not the time to make her escape. She would wait – soon, the time would be right.

oOo

Radek's eyes felt like they had been put in the microwave and nuked for about an hour. He removed his glasses, and slumped forward. He had been staring at the screen for hours – days, really – and they had found nothing. SGA-1 had walked through the stargate three – no, four - days ago, ready to establish trade with the various people of P6D-358, and had simply disappeared. Every available person had been dispatched to the planet to search. Even Elizabeth had broken one of John's cardinal rules, and left the safety of Atlantis, meeting with the heads of state to try and determine the whereabouts of Colonel Sheppard and his team.

The leader of the Atlantis expedition sat by his side, a cold cup of coffee in her hands. Her diplomatic inquiry had resulted in nothing. The problem was that this planet was very similar to Earth; too many leaders; too many warring factions; too little cooperation between sworn enemies. It was entirely possible that an enemy of Westel - the province that controlled the stargate - had swooped down and stolen the team, just because they could. Frustration and despair was beginning to fray at any hope they had of locating the team alive and well.

"Radek? Anything?" Elizabeth's weary voice broke through Zelenka's wandering thoughts, and he sighed as he raised his head and replaced his glasses.

"No, I'm sorry. I see nothing." Elizabeth nodded, her eyes distant. She knew what she had to do, and, for a moment, she hated being the expedition leader.

She gripped Radek's shoulder, then turned to a technician.

"Dial P6D-358, please." The technician bobbed her head, then rapidly punched the symbols. A loud whoosh filled the room as the gate roared to life. Elizabeth keyed her headset as Carson Beckett entered the room.

"Major Lorne? Please respond." Carson came to her side, concern and curiosity in his blue eyes as she stood.

"Lorne here," came the crackled response.

"Major, did you find anything in the last sweep?" Elizabeth asked, praying that the answer would be a yes. The radio was silent, then his dejected voice gave her the answer she dreaded.

"No Ma'am. All we get is static," he replied. Elizabeth closed her eyes, fighting to keep her emotions in check.

"Major, I'm calling off the search. Have all units return immediately." She heard both Carson and Radek gasp, and steeled herself for the arguments. She clicked off her radio, then turned to the distraught doctors.

"Elizabeth, you can't just leave them….." Carson's voice trailed off, seeing the despair in Dr. Weir's eyes. Once more, he reached out, this time to grasp both her shoulders and turn her towards him.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" he asked gently. Numb, she shook her head.

"No, Carson, I don't want to just leave SGA-1 behind to who knows what fate. But, until we get some kind of a lead or a clue as to where they are, we are just using up valuable resources. I'm sorry." She shuddered, wrapping her arms across her chest, and deftly removed herself from his grasp.

"Dr. Zelenka, I want you to go and get some rest. Until…..until Rodney returns, you'll be in charge of the scientists." Radek merely stared at Elizabeth, his mind trying to wrap around her words. She leaned in, placing one hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for all your help, Radek. Now go."

The physicist stood, wobbling a bit, then, without a word, slowly left the room. Carson watched him go, then turned back to Elizabeth.

"My God, that must have been hard to say," he said softly. Elizabeth only nodded, tears pooling in her eyes as the stargate reopened and the first of the puddlejumpers returned from their search.

"I hope you'll never have to know," she whispered softly.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Sacrifice

Chapter 5

John paced the cell relentlessly, part of him knowing that he was using up valuable energy, another part of him needing the release. Rodney had been gone at least six hours, and with each passing minute, his fear that the scientist wouldn't survive this ordeal increased.

He froze as the iron door rattled once more, then ran over as it swung open. Worner strode in, a guard behind him brandishing the stun weapon. John paused, his eyes searching behind the men for McKay, but the scientist was no where in sight.

"Where's McKay?" he demanded. Worner merely smiled, his eyes gleaming.

"Dr. McKay is proving to be much more…..resilient than I thought possible," he purred. His hands were encased in black leather gloves, and John watched him tug them off, finger by finger.

"Yeah, well, he's full of surprises," John replied. Worner's use of 'is' rather than 'was' reassured him that Rodney still lived. Still, he needed to escape, to get the scientist to medical help as soon as possible.

"You two are….close?" Worner asked. John eyed the man warily, unsure of how to answer.

"We have our moments," John said. His eyes darted to the open door, and he made a slight movement towards it. Immediately, the guard raised his weapon.

Not wanting to re-experience the pain of the blast, John gave a half-grimace and shrugged.

"Come. I wish you to see something," Worner said. He nodded at the guard, who produced a set of handcuffs. He roughly cuffed the Colonel's hands in front, then poked him in the back with the barrel of the gun. Sighing, John sauntered out of the cell, his eyes circling the hallway. Behind him, the door closed with a bang and a click.

They walked down the long corridor, hewn out of the same rock as the cells. John saw no other doors other than the one he had left behind, and a similar iron door before him. As he approached it, he could hear the screaming again. His heart froze; it was McKay. He paused, waiting for the door to open, then was shoved into a room.

In the room, which resembled a police interrogation room, was a large window, and a man standing before it. As John focused his gaze through the window, he could see another man outside, slowly circling around someone. McKay.

Rodney was tied to some kind of scaffolding device, both hands tied over his head, his arms straining as they supported his weight. His shirt was torn and filthy, soaked with sweat and patches of blood. He spun slowly back and forth, with only his toes sweeping the floor. As he rotated towards John, the Colonel could see his back was cut, the skin torn, apparently by a whip.

"STOP!" Sheppard roared, his horror at Rodney's condition reflected in his voice.

Rodney made no move that he heard John; rather, his head remained sagging forward on to his chest, the only movement his flinches and cries of pain as the whip cut yet again into his back.

John saw red; he turned and lunged towards the guard, murder in his eyes. The guard brought the gun up and rammed it into his stomach, forcing all the air from Sheppard's lungs. He dropped like a stone, his cuffed hands grabbing at his midsection, stars circling his vision. Vaguely, he could hear the crack of the whip and Rodney's cry of pain as he was lashed once more.

"Colonel Sheppard, I did not bring you here to cause chaos. I thought you needed to hear something." He nodded at the guard, who grabbed John's arm and yanked him to his feet. Still bent over in pain, John managed to glare at Worner.

"I am going to kill you," he promised through clenched teeth. Worner only chuckled, then pressed John against the window.

"Dr. McKay cannot see or hear us," he said. He rapped on the window, and the interrogator placed the whip down. He went to Rodney, lifting his head.

McKay's blue eyes fluttered open, and he panted, blood trickling from his mouth.

"Dr. McKay, what is your relationship with Colonel Sheppard?" the man asked. Rodney remained silent, his eyes blinking as sweat blinded him. The man leaned in and elbowed Rodney in the ribs, and the scientist cried out. John fought wildly against the guard holding him to the glass, but his efforts were useless.

"I asked you a question. What is your relationship with Colonel Sheppard?" John stared as Rodney tried to smile, his body swaying back and forth slightly as his toes slid out from under him.

"Pain in his ass," Rodney wheezed out, and John had to suppress a smile of his own. Boy, wasn't that the truth. Worner's gaze swung from John, then out the window to McKay, his eyes narrowing.

"So, you consider Colonel Sheppard nothing more than another soldier?" the man asked, and John saw Rodney go still. His blue eyes shut, and his crooked mouth tightened.

"Why...you..want...know…'bout…Sheppard..again?" Rodney spat out, and the man hit him in the chest again, causing Rodney to gasp. More blood spilled from his mouth, and John felt his body go cold.

"Leave him alone! Goddammit Worner! You're killing him," John yelled. Worner nodded.

"Yes, I am, Colonel Sheppard. That is what I do." His words sounded dead, no regret or remorse, just cold truth.

"Dr. McKay, only I ask the questions. Or have you forgotten?" The interrogator leered at Rodney, who shook his head. "Now, answer me. Is Colonel Sheppard no more than another soldier to you?"

Rodney remained silent for a long moment. John waited, not knowing how the scientist was supposed to answer. Finally, Rodney raised his head.

"No. More than…soldier. Friend." Rodney replied painfully. John steeled himself for the emotion that coursed through him. He had always known that Rodney considered him a friend, but the word had never left the physicist's lips. Ever. They carefully avoided any such conversation, only revealing the depth of their feelings by their actions.

"I see. So, you would protect your friend, wouldn't you, Dr. McKay?" John eyes widened in horror as he realized where this was leading, and he banged against the window. The interrogator looked up, confused, but then John was yanked away from the glass, the butt of the gun in the small of his back.

Rodney took no notice of the noise on the glass. Through the fog of pain and exhaustion his ever-working brain processed the question. Protect Sheppard? Yes, of course he would protect him. After all, Sheppard had saved his sorry ass more times than he could count. And there was no reason the both of them had to die. For that's what was happening, wasn't it? He was dying. His body couldn't take much more of this torture, and, really, he wasn't going to tell them anything. So, eventually, they would kill him. And if he died protecting John, well, then, so be it. At least he would finally get to be the hero.

"Yes. Protect…Sheppard," Rodney wheezed. The interrogator smiled, then raised his fist. With one sharp blow, he punched Rodney in the ribs, watching as the scientist folded, his head falling forward as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

John let out a pained moan, fighting the anguish. As from a great distance, he heard Worner's cold voice.

"Dr. McKay has valiantly protected you for the last four days, Colonel. I wonder if you would do the same for him. Take him back to his cell." John was wrenched backward, the guard grabbing him by his cuffed hands. His last sight was of McKay, unconscious and bleeding, hanging from the scaffold like a sacrifice.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Sacrifice

Chapter 6

Ronon's mouth was so dry, he felt like he had chewed on a ball of yarn. And his head pounded, so much so that if looked in a mirror, he probably would see his skull throbbing. He groaned, trying to remember what had happened. The sudden sound of a woman's voice caused his eyes to pop open. He raised one hand, blocking the glare of the light coming from a window.

"You are feeling the effects of the drug. It was the only way to get you to my home," said the voice. Suddenly, memory crashed in on Ronon, and he sat straight up. Teyla. Cell. They were sold; he was a slave.

He recoiled as a warm hand descended on his shoulder. Before him sat the old woman who had bought him. He raised his hands, noticing that he wasn't chained or bound. Leaping to his feet, he reached out and grabbed the woman.

"Where am I? And where is Teyla? Speak, or I swear, I will kill you." The woman remained calm in his grasp, neither calling out for help or trying to break free. Confused, he only tightened his grip. His cast his eyes about the small room, taking in the bed, a couple of chairs and lamps, a dresser and a bright rug on the floor.

"If you wish answers to your questions, you must release me," she gasped. Ronon waited a few more seconds, unsure of his next move. Finally, he loosened his hold, allowing the woman to stagger away while she coughed and rubbed at her arms.

"My name is Lisel. Like you, I was once captured and sold into slavery. That was many years ago," she informed him. "Please, sit. The drug has not fully dissipated, and you look like you're going to fall down any second now." She waved one arm towards the bed, concern on her face.

"I will stand," he said shortly. She only sighed, then nodded her head. Pouring a glass of water, she offered the cup to him, frowning as he refused, then sat in one of the chairs.

"As for your questions, you are on my farm, in Westel. The province that contains the stargate," she said. Ronon didn't answer, but merely stood, fighting the dizziness, and resisting the urge to pace.

"Teyla – that is her name? Very pretty – Teyla has been sold."

Ronon felt his hands curl into fists. He only remembered the old woman buying him; after that everything was blank.

"Who? Who bought Teyla?" The old woman sighed, then shook her head sadly.

"I'm sorry, but Teyla now belongs to Mariel. By now she is being…. broken in."

Ronon felt his body grow cold at Lisel's words. Broken in? What did that mean?

He stepped forward, glaring down at the woman. She returned his gaze steadily, no fear in her eyes, only concern. "Where is this Mariel person? How do I get there?" he demanded.

"Oh, you can't get to her," Lisel said, shaking her head. "Mariel and her girls are well protected. No, you must stay here, at least until you have recovered fully."

Ronon shook his head again. He couldn't stay here. He needed to find Teyla, then return to Atlantis so they could organize a rescue team and find Sheppard and McKay. The thought of his two missing teammates brought to mind another question.

"How long have I been here?"

She paused for a moment, tapping a finger against her lips. "Let's see – you and your friends came through the stargate about four days ago. Yes, that seems right." She raised an eyebrow at his sharp intake of breath. Four days!

He sagged on to the bed, his mind racing. Finally, he turned to the old woman.

"I need you to tell me everything you know. Now." Threat glowed in his eyes, and his hands twitched in his lap. Lisel only nodded, sipping at her glass of water.

"This may take awhile," she said.

oOo

Major Lorne landed his ship next to the stargate. On this planet, the stargate was controlled by one of the larger provinces, Westel, but all of the provinces – except the ones at war with Westel – had access. Like many of the worlds they had explored in the Pegasus galaxy, these people were stuck in the medieval period, the Wraith preventing them from getting too technologically advanced. Very few people actually used the gate, but those that did walked and carried their supplies or trading goods. Their lack of technology was one of the reasons Sheppard's team had walked through the gate four days ago, rather than frightening the people with a jumper.

Lorne's jumper was cloaked, and he powered the ship down until only scanners and life support were functioning. Dr. Weir had ordered the entire search team back, but he wasn't ready to give up looking yet. He knew that there would be hell to pay when he and his team returned to Atlantis. But he knew Sheppard would never leave him behind, exhausting all avenues until he was found – dead or alive. Lorne felt he owed that much to his superior officer and his team.

Lieutenant Brenner flicked on the scanners, calibrated to search for the members of SGA-1. For days they had stared at these scanners, hoping that some signal would reveal a place to start looking, but so far, they had nothing but unusual bursts of static. Even Dr. Weir, intimidating the local heads of state with her arrival on a puddlejumper, had gotten nowhere. She had questioned each province leader carefully, negotiated with them to allow her search teams complete access to all the cities, and threatened serious harm should someone be caught lying. It was all for naught. Defeated, she had returned to Atlantis, wondering if the team was even still on P6D-358.

Lorne was not so easily swayed. He had decided to sit here, guarding the gate. It was logical that the team would use the gate to return to Atlantis, and Lorne would be here, ready and waiting. After all, it was the least he could do.

oOo

Mariel shook her head at the woman. Her newest acquisition was struggling against her bindings, causing red welts to form at her wrists and ankles. The woman had not stopped struggling since she had been delivered a few hours ago. Not wanting her prize to cause permanent marks, she walked over and slapped the girl lightly on the cheek.

"Cease! You are only hurting yourself." The woman froze, her eyes murderous as she glared at Mariel. The head mistress only chuckled, knowing that many of her clients enjoyed company that was….spirited. She would be in great demand – until she was broken. But, even then, her unusual beauty would bring in customers – and that was all that mattered.

Teyla was sprawled on a bed, her arms and legs bound by strong ropes to each post. Her off-world uniform had been removed, replaced by a flowing red gown. Her legs were bare, as were her feet. The deep cut on her arm caused by the whip had been bandaged, the white cloth stark against her brown skin.

"Your name, slave?" Mariel asked. Some times the new girls refused to answer and Mariel had to assign them a name. She watched as the woman wrestled some more with her bindings, than turned and focused her hatred on Mariel.

"My name is Teyla Emmagen. I am the leader of the Athosian people. You have no right to…." Teyla's words were cut off as the woman leaned forward and slapped her again, this time harder.

"Teyla. Yes, it suits you." Mariel walked regally around the room, gathering her full skirts around her. She was an attractive woman, perhaps in her fifties, with silver-blonde hair cut to her shoulders and light blue eyes. "As for rights, well, you have none. You belong to me – for the next ten years, at least."

Teyla absorbed this information, her mind growing desperate. She had no idea of Ronon's fate, and knew that it was up to her to get herself out of this situation, and somehow return to Atlantis. So far, all her efforts had resulted in her being bound to this bed.

"I belong to no one," Teyla spat back. Mariel merely smiled down at her.

"You believe that now, my dear. But, after you have been properly broken in, I think your tune will change." With a small sigh, she walked towards the door.

"I'll be back soon, Teyla Emmagen. I suggest you prepare yourself." With that, she turned the knob and was gone. Teyla stared after the woman, worried. Prepare herself? For what?

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Sacrifice

Chapter 7

Worner watched as Rodney McKay swayed gently back and forth, his bound arms acting like a pendulum while his toes swiveled on floor. He sighed, not wanting to be impressed by the scientist, but admiring the man nonetheless.

When McKay and Sheppard had been captured four days ago, Worner had thought that the information they sought would be an easy acquisition. After all, with Sheppard unconscious and McKay afraid for both himself and his teammate, the two men were already vulnerable. The chief interrogator had thought just a few hours with one of his men and the scientist – obviously the weaker of the two men – would be ready to talk.

And that turned out to be the problem. McKay talked, all right. He yelled. He threatened. He whimpered and whined, moaned and complained, shouted and cried. Before the physical torture began, the scientist did his best to insult Worner and his men, calling them various names, lobbing jokes about their mothers – something to do with combat boots – and generally making a verbal nuisance of himself. Then, as the beatings began, McKay switched gears, singing about bottles of beer on the wall falling down, reciting the elements forward and backwards, and citing the logical inconsistencies associated with something called _Quantum Leap_.

Worner had increased the physical torture, administering whippings whenever McKay refused to answer a question. That only caused the scientist to withdraw into himself, muttering incoherently. The chief interrogator changed his tactics, asking McKay about his personal self rather than the mysterious eighth symbol on the Atlantis stargate. As he had waded through McKay's resistant ramblings about neglectful, disinterested parents and an older sister who resented his intelligence, they somehow came around to the subject of Sheppard. It was on this subject that McKay became defensive, like he was protecting something….precious or sacred. Curious, Worner had decided to see Sheppard's reaction to McKay's words, and brought the Colonel in as they were questioning McKay. The results had been promising.

He would use McKay to break Sheppard. The man was near death anyway – lack of food and water, combined with his physical injuries, had eroded the scientist's endurance until he was literally hanging on by a thread. Worner knew that Sheppard was keenly aware of this – and he was hoping that by offering medical help to McKay, Sheppard would reveal the information they needed.

And they needed it soon. The Wraith had been contacted, and they were on their way. They would be here in a matter of days, wanting the information, or taking the two Atlantean men and getting it themselves. And if that happened, the agreement Worner had reached with the Wraith would be null; and the cullings would begin again.

No, Worner thought to himself. He would get the information. Any way he could.

He watched as the physician entered the interrogation room and injected McKay, and a slow smile began to spread across his face. The physician spoke to one of the guards, and McKay was dropped unceremoniously from the scaffold, sprawling on the ground in a broken heap.

"Well?" Worner asked as the physician entered the observation room, the chief interrogator's eyes still on the unconscious physicist.

"No more than four hours. But he needs to be treated immediately, Worner. Any delay and he will die for certain."

Worner remained silent, only nodding his acknowledgement. Soon he would have the information he needed, and then McKay would die anyway.

oOo

John stood as Rodney was dragged into the cell. He raced to the scientist's side, running his hands down McKay's arms, feeling for a pulse on the chafed wrists. The physicist made no response, his ashen face still and drawn. Only the slight gasps of breath reassured John that Rodney still lived.

"I have been told that your friend will not last the night," Worner said. John raised his head, his green eyes bright with tears of rage. "Our physicians have assured me, however, that if we provide medical attention now, he may yet live. The choice is yours." Worner paused, watching as John came to his feet, his stance threatening.

"In return for the information you seek, I presume," John snarled. Worner merely nodded.

"You are aware of how this works, Colonel Sheppard. Your friend's life for the eighth symbol. It's that simple." He and John stared hard at each other for a long moment, then John shook his head.

"I can't." The words were soft, filled with despair, and Worner bit back a smile. He would give the two men time; if Sheppard truly cared for McKay, he would change his mind.

Worner motioned to the guards, and once more, they left a jug of water and some bread. John ignored it, kneeling down next to Rodney, and cushioning his head with the now-tattered jacket. He didn't turn as the door banged shut.

"Shep…?" Rodney's words were air-thin, barely audible, even in the quiet of the cell. John leaned forward, one hand resting lightly on Rodney's shoulder.

"I'm here, McKay. Be quiet. You need your strength." John grimaced as the man gasped in another breath, and he noticed that Rodney's mouth was red with blood. Fear tugged at him, and silently the Colonel cursed. He propped Rodney up, leaning him against the wall, and the man's breathing became a bit easier.

"Don't ….tell…them…" Rodney wheezed. John didn't answer, just tucked his jacket around the scientist.

"Shhh…take a break, McKay." John's voice nearly broke as he spoke. He sat back and studied the scientist, appalled at his battered condition. Exhaustion overcame the physicist and Rodney fell asleep, his head drooping towards his chest. John repositioned himself, getting as close as possible to share his body warmth with the shivering scientist. Carefully, he took Rodney's head and laid it on his shoulder, hoping to give the beaten man a little comfort. Settling back, he closed his eyes, praying for help. Over and over, his mind worked the situation, knowing that he could never reveal any information regarding Earth – or Atlantis for that matter – but wanting desperately to save McKay. John knew Worner was telling the truth; Rodney didn't have much time left. And just the thought of losing the scientist made John's soul grow cold and empty. Somewhere, between the arguments and the narrow escapes, John had grown unaccustomedly close to the petulant physicist. What started out as a grudging respect had transformed into a kind of dependency. From there, the relationship between the two had progressed even further, to the rough equivalent of friends.

In the back of his mind, John knew that he really considered Rodney a brother. A pain in the ass, condescending, know-it-all, brainiac brother, but a brother, nonetheless. Rodney – and Teyla, Ronon and Elizabeth, Carson too – were now his family, and Atlantis his home. And the thought of losing one of his family – losing the one he admired and respected the most - was too devastating to contemplate.

oOo

A couple of hours later, John woke with a start. He had fallen asleep, his right hand clutching Rodney's arm.

"John." The voice was pained, merely a whisper contained in a gasp. John eased himself away from McKay, carefully lowering the injured man to the ground. McKay never called him John; it was always Colonel or Sheppard. He froze as he caught sight of Rodney's face.

He was grey. The scientist's breathing was practically non-existent, his lips were tinged with blue. Sweat streamed from Rodney's body, but as John grasped one on his hands, he gasped at the icy touch.

"Rodney? You have to hang on, okay? Ronon and Teyla will come, and we'll get you to Carson." John's words died away as Rodney's blue eyes fluttered open. Normally, they were bright with intelligence, sharp with caustic humor. Now, the scientist's gaze was cloudy and vacant.

"Didn't…tell…anything…." Rodney forced out. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and John felt his eyes well with tears. He squashed down his anguish, transferring it into rage. Letting go of Rodney's hand, he ran to the iron door, beating on it.

"Help him! Now! Please! Worner, help him!" John shouted until he was hoarse, hating himself that he was begging, but his fear at losing McKay overwhelming. A low moan brought him back to Rodney's side, dropping to his knees and gently taking the scientist's frozen hand once more.

Rodney's eyes were closed again, but he managed to blink them open, trying to focus on Sheppard. He gave the Colonel a pained smile. John remained silent, unable to speak.

"John…best…friend." Rodney's breathing became more labored, his chest straining. His eyes trained on Sheppard's tear-filled eyes.

"Not…alone….die…thanks….." In horror, John watched as Rodney's eyes lost their focus, the brilliant spark of life they always contained flickering and fading. Rodney exhaled one last breath and then was silent.

"No. No no no…. Rodney!" Tears streamed down John's face as he realized the scientist was gone. Moaning, he rocked back and forth on his knees, still clutching the cold hand. Behind him, he heard the iron door bang open, and strange hands roughly shoved him out of the way. He fell back, landing hard against the stone wall, watching as Rodney's still body was lifted on to a stretcher, then carried out the door.

Worner remained standing next to the door, his eyes never leaving Sheppard's face. The man was shattered. With a satisfied grin, Worner turned and left the room. He would leave John to wallow in his guilt and loss, then return. Hopefully, he would have a surprise for the Colonel – and the means to get the information he wanted.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Sacrifice

Chapter 8

Lisel and Ronon guided the wagon through the city, doing their best to not draw any attention. Two huge oxen pulled the wagon, their short brown tails swishing back and forth incessantly. In the back were bales of hay, piled high, some teetering dangerously to the side every time the wagon lurched around a corner.

Ronon was garbed in a long, coarse sack of a shirt, a cowl covering his face and hair. Lisel had pointed out that he would immediately be identified by his dreadlocks, and insisted he remain covered. Now, seated next to the old woman, he was glad he did; for a backwater city, this town was teeming with people.

Lisel clucked her tongue at the oxen, who walked complacently among the crowds. They were on their way to the hay storehouses, clear on the other side of town. At least, that was their story whenever one of the soldiers of the city stopped them.

"To the right. There. The three story building," Lisel muttered. Ronon's eyes focused on the shabby structure, taking in the multitude of soldiers and guards swarming the area. High shrieks and the sound of music echoed from the hotel, and he felt his gut tighten. Teyla was in a house of prostitution – and according to Lisel, was about to be passed around to Mariel's best clients to 'break her in'.

"Lisel, I need to get in there," he whispered. His hands wrapped around the sides of the seat, his need to race in and get Teyla overwhelming. The thought of anyone touching her……rage seethed through him.

"I already told you that's impossible. Let me speak to my contacts. It will only take a few minutes," she replied, her eyes darting a sympathetic look at the runner. She pulled the wagon to a stop, then slowly descended, one hand braced by Ronon.

"I'll be right back, Ronon. Trust me," she said. He looked into her gray eyes, and gave a short nod. He did trust her. His mind raced over the information she had revealed as she scurried off into one of the small feed stores.

The old woman had been captured many years ago, sold into slavery much the same as Teyla and Ronon had been. She had worked for a kind owner, eventually earning her freedom, and acquiring the farm where she now resided. The memory of her fright and horror of being stolen and sold to a stranger remained, however, so whenever she could, she would purchase a slave, and set them free.

But, she had added, there is more to the story. She had made many friends over the years; ex-slaves she had set free and who remained in Westel, no longer able to return to their homes. Others who despised the government in Westel, a government that openly approved of slavery and torture and making deals with the Wraith. Ronon's eyes had widened in surprise as Lisel had related the last bit to him, and he felt his body clench. This was starting to make sense.

"A Wraith came through the gate about six months ago and met with the province leader of Westel. In return for any information we acquired regarding Atlantis, Earth or the eighth gate symbol, the Wraith would offer us a reprieve from cullings. Our leader immediately accepted, and word was spread to the various provinces. The Wraith also gave us the name of your Colonel Sheppard, and the team known as SGA-1."

She had fallen silent. "The gate was watched night and day. Four days ago, your team walked through the stargate, and it was immediately apparent that you were the SGA-1 the Wraith sought. You were subdued and captured by a local group of mercenaries. In exchange for you and Teyla – to be sold as slaves, with the profits going to the mercs - Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay were taken to be interrogated. By now, the Wraith have been notified of their existence and are certainly on their way."

Ronon stared hard at the ugly building, grimacing at the catcalls and yells coming from the windows. The Wraith were on their way. Sheppard and McKay were captured, being interrogated – and the soldiers openly used torture. And Teyla – his quiet, serene friend - was about to passed around to the filth that occupied this town. And he was sitting here, just mere yards away, unable to help her.

Lisel came hurrying back. She climbed up to the seat with difficulty, then clucked her tongue as she snapped the reins.

"Your people have been here, searching. Your leader – a Dr. Weir – has sent many flying ships through the gate, but many have since returned. However, I did manage to get this for you."

Lisel rummaged in her cloak, then discreetly handed Ronon his radio headset. He grasped it in one huge hand, a shiver of anticipation in his belly. His radio!

"Lisel, I need to get to a place where I can use this," he said. "Hopefully, not all of the jumpers have left." She heard the urgency in his voice, and nodded her head.

"We will be at my storehouse in a matter of minutes. You can use the device there," she said.

Ronon only nodded, the radio tight in his fist, his mind racing. He looked over his shoulder at the receding hotel, hoping that he wouldn't be too late.

oOo

Major Lorne sighed. They had been sitting here for about four hours, waiting, watching the few people come and go through the gate. Nothing. Lorne resisted the urge to power up the ship and start flying around again, continuing the search Weir had called off. No, the gate was where they had disappeared. Here is where he needed to stay.

His headset crackled. "This is Ronon Dex. Is anyone reading me?" The Major started at the sound of the runner's voice, and he elbowed his Lieutenant in the ribs. Brenner lurched awake, then quickly began activating the scanners.

"Ronon, this is Major Lorne. Are you okay?" Excitement crept into the Major's voice and he powered up the jumper. A peasant just coming down the dirt road let out a squawk as the invisible ship lifted off, blasting dust everywhere. Frightened, the man ran into the safety of the trees.

"Yes, I'm fine. Where are you?" Ronon quickly filled in Major Lorne about the situation, making his first priority rescuing Teyla. Lorne flew the ship towards the outskirts of the city, his eyes searching for the warehouse Ronon was describing. As he flew he felt renewed hope; they had found Ronon, and Teyla. Next would be McKay and Colonel Sheppard.

oOo

Teyla lay on the bed, still bound by her hands and feet. Mariel had left a long time ago, warning Teyla to prepare herself. Teyla had spent the time alone working to free her bonds, but the knots were strong. Now, worn out from her struggles, she lay back with her eyes closed, doing her best to relax.

Teyla Emmagen wasn't a fool. She didn't become leader of the Athosians because she was naïve, or easily misled. No, she knew what Mariel meant by broken in. She would be raped – and many times, if Mariel's words were to be believed.

Her eyes flew to the door as it crashed inward. A man stood there, his eyes leering at Teyla. He slammed the door shut with his foot, his hands already at his pants. Teyla glared, her rage building. She bucked and struggled against the ropes, feeling the blood begin to stream from her wrists as the fibers cut into her skin. The man merely laughed, kicking off his shoes and yanking his shirt out of his undone pants.

"Mariel says you was feisty," he spat. "And a pretty thing, too." He reached the side of the bed, and Teyla fought even more, using her movements to keep him from crawling on top of her. All the while she shouted, hurling insults at the man, threatening him with death if he even touched her. He laughed again, leaned in and punched her in the face.

"NO marks!" Mariel stood at the door, her hands on her hips. "I warned you, Liam. She is to remain unscathed." Teyla halted her movements, turning towards Mariel.

"Do not do this, Mariel. I warn you, you will regret it!" Teyla's words were cut short as Liam grabbed at her dress. He ripped it up, revealing her bare thighs and undergarments. In horror, Teyla watched as Mariel grinned, then shut the door. Liam reached up and yanked at the underwear, then……stopped. A look of utter surprise covered his face, then he was yanked backwards.

Teyla heard Ronon's roar of outrage before she saw him. The runner grabbed Liam, grabbing at the man's head and giving it a hard twist. With a sickening crack, Liam's neck broke, and Ronon dropped the body to the floor. Below, Teyla could hear the burst of gunfire, and the screams of women and men.

Ronon raced to the bed, a knife already in his hands. He quickly cut her bonds, then pulled Teyla up, feeling the Athosian shiver in his arms. He took a moment, looking into her relieved face, and hugging her to him, before another blast of gunshots roused him.

"Are you okay?" he asked through clenched teeth. The urge to kill flowed through him, and if Teyla had asked, he would have slaughtered everyone in the building. She nodded, struggling to her feet, leaning on him as the strength in her legs waned.

"I will be fine, Ronon. Thank you." Teyla took a step away from the runner, swaying just a bit. "We should go," she added.

Ronon nodded. He opened the door, and Teyla saw Mariel, blood oozing from a stab wound in her chest, lying dead on the floor. She stepped over the woman, following Ronon down two flights of stairs. Major Lorne and Lieutenant Brenner were there, along with an older woman Teyla vaguely recognized. The soldiers lay down another blast, preventing the city guards from entering the hotel.

"Quickly! This way," Lisel ordered, and they followed her out a side door. There, a puddlejumper was parked right next to the hotel, surrounded by curious onlookers. Teyla and Ronon entered the ship, followed by a nervous Lisel, then finally Lorne and Brenner. Teyla took a seat at the pilot's chair, shutting the hatch and taking off, ignoring the banging on the jumper as the city guards tried to stop it.

Major Lorne came forward, skirting the old woman with a frown. "I'll take over Teyla," he said. He hadn't failed to notice that her wrists were bleeding, and the dress she wore was torn.

Still a bit dazed, Teyla nodded gratefully, allowing Ronon to pull her into a chair and begin binding her wrists. Lisel watched the scenery below, fascinated by the experience of flying. She watched as Brenner, seated in the copilot's chair, keyed in the gate address, then, as the gate loomed before them, it's watery event horizon shimmering, began talking into his headset.

"Atlantis, this is Lieutenant Brenner. We have Ronon and Teyla. I repeat, we have Ronon and Teyla. We're bringing them home." There was a long pause, then the clearly emotional voice of Dr. Weir sounded through the radio.

"Thank God. Bring them home, Lieutenant."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Sacrifice

Chapter 9

Lt. Colonel John Sheppard was numb. He sat on the cold, hard floor of the cell, his arms wrapped around his knees, his head bowed. His back was braced by the stone wall, the rock biting into his spine, but he ignored the discomfort.

Rodney was dead. John had watched as the life faded from the scientist's blue eyes, and had done nothing. Nothing. Unable to accept the fact that McKay was gone, John had withdrawn into himself, his mind replaying the last few minutes of Rodney's life over and over.

The scientist had thanked him. _Thanked him!_ The man never thanked anyone for anything – and yet, his last breath had been used to tell John that he was grateful that he wasn't alone when he died. Sheppard swallowed, hearing Rodney's strangled voice, seeing the pained smile as McKay struggled to speak, his last words so important to them both. John shuddered, telling himself that he had to deal with the current situation and come to terms with the grief of losing his friend later. When he was alone.

But – he was alone. They had removed McKay's body hours ago, slamming the iron door shut, and leaving Sheppard to sit. And think.

_Get up!_

John started, swearing he heard Rodney's voice. He raised his head, ignoring the tears that streamed down his face, and searched the room with his eyes. There was no one.

_Get up! Come on, Sheppard, get moving._

John stood, holding the wall for support. "Rodney?" he asked, feeling both foolish and a little crazy. There was no one in the room. Maybe it was a trick Worner was playing on him. If so, it was cruel – cruel enough to anger Sheppard.

_You need to escape. You need to live._

"I don't know what game you're playing, Worner, but it won't work." John stood, pushing himself away from the wall, his anger giving him strength. He began pacing, his hands clenching into fists. He halted as he kicked something; Rodney's off-world jacket. He leaned down, picking up the torn garment, turning it over in his hands until he found the patch with the maple leaf. Determination now consuming him, he tore the patch off, then tossed the ruined jacket back on to the floor. John stared long and hard at the red and white logo, sorrow and anger boiling within him, then shoved it into his pants pocket.

_You need to escape. You need to live._

He walked to the jug of water and the loaf of bread, swiping them both off the floor. He closed his eyes as he drank from the jug, the tepid water cooling his throat. He tore a piece of bread from the loaf, stuffing it into his mouth, chewing without tasting.

Soon, Worner would come. His own torture would begin. The chief interrogator was hoping that the loss of Rodney – the loss of his friend – would break Sheppard, would make the Colonel reveal all the secrets that kept Atlantis and the rest of the Colonel's strange extended family safe. But Rodney's voice had been a wake-up call; all he had to do was survive a little longer, and his friends would rescue him. Or Worner would slip, giving John the chance he needed to escape this hell-hole. John needed to be alert, on his toes, keeping an eye out for the moment Worner let his defenses down, and then John would run.

He needed to escape. He needed to live.

oOo

The faces in the conference room were tense. Elizabeth clasped her hands tightly in front of her, her sense of urgency dueling with the need to make sure all details were attended to. She focused her gaze on Major Lorne as he questioned the old woman Ronon had brought back from P6D-358.

"And you're sure that's where they'll be holding the Colonel and McKay?" he asked for the fifth time. Lisel nodded emphatically, her finger pointing at a roughly sketched map she had drawn.

"Absolutely. All political prisoners are brought to the interrogation center. The chief interrogator is a man called Worner – horrible soul."

Lorne nodded. He glanced up at Elizabeth, his face grim. "I'm thinking we'll need at least four jumpers, all fully manned and equipped. They don't have a lot of technology, but they may have a lot of guards."

Lisel interrupted, her face concerned. "Major, the interrogators do have access to more advanced weaponry. They have traded with other races that have better technology, and I am certain that they now have automatic weapons. And there may be other items that they may have that I am not aware of."

Lorne stared at the old woman, grateful for the information. It was best that he knew where his people stood before attempting this rescue mission.

"Thanks, Lisel." He turned back to Dr. Weir. "We'll still have surprise on our side. That will give us an advantage."

Elizabeth nodded. "I want you to take the entire structure out after you find Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay. Is that clear?" Lorne nodded, his eyes widening in surprise. Dr. Weir was an avowed diplomat, usually stressing the need to rely on peaceful negotiations, and rarely succumbing to violence. Her authorization of the destruction of the interrogation building revealed the depth of her anger.

Ronon watched as Dr. Weir chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip, then nodded her head.

"All right, Major. Assemble your teams. Take whatever weaponry you deem necessary. You'll leave in thirty minutes." Major Lorne stood and saluted, then began barking orders into his radio as he strode from the room.

Elizabeth turned to Carson Beckett. "Doctor?"

"I'm ready. All medical and surgical teams are standing by." He turned his gaze on to the woman from Westel. "Lisel, if you could come with me, I'll check you over, then find you some quarters." Carson's Scottish accent was firm and sure, his medical training keeping him calm and detached. Elizabeth could tell his was extraordinarily worried, however, by his strained smile as he addressed the off-worlder.

The older woman stood, then laid a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "I do hope you find your friends in time. If you need anything else, please, just ask." Elizabeth managed to offer a brief, strained smile, then watched as the two left the room.

"Ronon. Teyla. I know you want to return to P6D-358, but if your injuries are too….." Dr. Weir was interrupted by Ronon abruptly standing, his face set in a scowl. Teyla, too, had gotten to her feet.

"Dr. Weir, Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay are our teammates. And our friends. We will not be left behind," Teyla replied. Elizabeth merely sighed, then rose to her feet, approaching the two.

"Then, please, be careful." Ronon nodded his head once, and Teyla gave the expedition leader a quick smile. They turned as one, limping out the door.

"And bring them home," Elizabeth whispered.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Sacrifice

Chapter 10

John hung from the scaffold, his arms shaking from the strain of supporting his weight. He could feel the tips of his toes scraping the floor, but it wasn't enough to relieve the tension.

The whip howled again, and he tensed as it bit into his back once more. The pain was excruciating. The end of the whip was wrapped with sharp metal wire, and each lash cut deep into his skin. He refrained from yelling out, focusing his pain into hatred, remembering that Rodney had been tortured like this for days. For him, they were only into the fourth hour. Still, it seemed like he had been hung up here for weeks.

"It is useless to resist, Colonel. Just speak of the symbol, and I promise you will receive immediate medical attention." Worner's smooth, oily voice sounded close to his left ear, and John wearily lifted his head. Sweat from his brow dribbled into his eyes, burning and blurring his vision, and he blinked.

"Symbol? What symbol?" John gasped, knowing that he would regret goading the interrogator. Sure enough, the whip whined again, and cracked as it made contact with his back. John yelped, unable to control the sound.

_Boom_! Worner glanced away from Sheppard, his attention caught by….an explosion? Suddenly, the floor rocked, and rumbling was heard. Worner turned to the door, missing the smile that suddenly crossed Sheppard's face.

"What is happening?" the interrogator demanded. His reply was the distant sound of gunfire, and the shouts and screams of men.

"You're in trouble now," John whispered. He raised his head, seeing himself in the mirror, and wondering who was on the other side of the window. He looked like hell. His eye was caught by the irritated look on Worner's face. The interrogator remained still for a moment, looking like he was making a decision, then he heard the sound of boots pounding on the floor. His mind made up, he lashed at Sheppard once more with the whip, this time catching him across the chest.

"You think you've won, Colonel, but we're not done yet," Worner hissed. John ignored him, the agony of the whip lash coursing through his body. He closed his eyes as Worner ran from the room, two of his guards on his heels.

Seconds later, the furious eyes of Ronon Dex were peering into Sheppard's face, taking in the battered form. With an angry snarl, he produced a large knife and cut John from the scaffold. Teyla caught him, her arms gently leaning him against her body.

"Colonel? Are you okay? Can you walk?" Teyla asked, her tone urgent. John managed a nod, looking up as Major Lorne and the rest of SGA-2 burst into the room, weapons held high.

"Sheppard? Where is McKay?" Ronon asked. He still held the knife in his hands, his eyes constantly circling the room.

John closed his eyes, a different pain pooling in his stomach. "Rodney's dead," he whispered, and the room went still. Teyla's eye's widened, shock glistening in their depths. Major Lorne cursed, then spoke into his radio. Ronon merely stood frozen, only the slight twitching of his hands betraying his emotion.

"Are you certain?" Teyla asked as Ronon came to John's other side, and helped her support the injured man.

"Yeah, I'm sure," came the reply, and everyone in the room could hear the defeat in Sheppard's voice.

"Colonel, we need to go," Major Lorne said. John merely nodded, and still supported by Teyla and Ronon, began to stagger from the interrogation room.

Within minutes, they burst from the building, running towards a puddlejumper. John could feel his body shutting down, his head swimming and his legs starting to buckle. Without a word, Ronon hefted him up, tossing him carefully over one broad shoulder, the runner never breaking his stride. Teyla took position in front of them, laying down bursts of gunfire, and clearing a path. Behind them, Lorne shouted into his headset, recalling the other SGA teams, and one by one, the jumpers began to lift off.

Ronon clambered into the ship, carefully laying the now-unconscious Colonel on to one of the rear seats. Teyla yanked down the first aid kit, ignoring Lorne and his men as they rushed passed the off-worlders. Within seconds they were in the air.

"Detonate," Lorne ordered tersely. Lieutenant Brenner pushed a button and a huge explosion followed moments later, debris flying high into the air, flames and dust obscuring the ground. Lorne kept the ship hovering over the destroyed interrogation building, his eyes sweeping the area for survivors. Satisfied that the mission had been accomplished, he turned the jumper, following the other ships to the stargate, and back home to Atlantis.

oOo

Familiar. There was something familiar. John Sheppard swam lazily up from unconsciousness, doing his best to ignore the agony in his back, or the ache in his arms. _Beep. Beep. Beep_. He recognized that noise. Shifting slightly, he felt softness behind his head, inhaled the clean scent of freshly-laundered sheets.

"Colonel Sheppard? C'mon lad, open your eyes," came Carson's gentle lilt, and John knew he was back on Atlantis. Relief flooded through him; he was home. But – there was still something wrong, wasn't there? Unaware that he was frowning, he searched his memory, trying to remember……..Suddenly, John's eyes flew open, and he shouted out a name as he struggled to sit.

"Rodney!" He gasped as his back screamed in protest, and Carson's hands pushed him firmly back on to the bed.

"Shhhh….okay, lad. It's okay," Carson said, trying to reassure Sheppard. He peered down at John's eyes, seeing the shock and disbelief dissolve into acceptance. It was true – Rodney was dead.

"Carson? Is he all right?" Elizabeth's tense voice shifted John's attention from the horrible memory of Rodney's death to the taut face of his expedition leader. Sorrow and exhaustion reflected in her eyes, and she sat on the side of John's bed, running one hand soothingly up and down his arm.

"Aye lass. He just needs to shake out the cobwebs," Carson replied. He kept his hands on the Colonels' shoulders, watching as John shut his eyes. Satisfied that the man would remain in bed, Carson busied himself checking the monitors.

"John. I know that this is difficult. But, can you tell us what happened….to Rodney?" Elizabeth's voice caught on the scientist's name, and John felt her hand go still on his arm. He reopened his eyes, focusing on the people surrounding his bed: Teyla, Ronon, Carson, Elizabeth and Radek. The pain of one face missing was almost physical, but he managed to nod, his face hardening into a mask.

Slowly, pausing often to swallow his emotion, John described the confinement, the torture, and finally, the death of Rodney McKay. He spoke in a monotone, pretending he was just debriefing Dr. Weir after a normal mission, doing his best to maintain his legendary control. He didn't tell them Rodney's last words; it was too fresh, too painful and far too personal. Nor did he mention hearing the physicist's voice after his body had been taken from the cell. But, as he finally raised his face, he could see that he had told them enough.

Rage. Loss. Regret. Pain. All these emotions were mirrored in one form or another on their faces. Teyla was opening crying, tears running down her face in twin trails. Elizabeth looked to be miles away, her gaze distant, but her hands now trembling. Ronon and Radek both looked ready to kill, a normal façade on the runner, but truly a frightening countenance on the little Czech physicist. And Carson – normally the most emotional of the tight group of friends – just looked lost.

John closed his eyes, leaning back on to his pillow. His throat was tight and his stomach felt uncommonly hollow. Suddenly exhausted, he heard Carson order the others away, that he needed to rest.

Rest. Yes, that's what he needed. To rest. To sleep. To forget that he alone had survived a terrible ordeal, that a horrible price had been paid so that he could be here, alive and safe, surrounded by his friends.

"Colonel?" John lurched awake, his eyes popping open. Carson gave him an apologetic smile, then reached into his pocket.

"You had this with you when they brought you in. I thought you might like to have it." John watched through blurry eyes as Carson placed Rodney's jacket patch, with its bright red maple leaf, into his one hand. Tears flowed from his eyes as he clenched it tightly, and, to his amazement, he saw Carson's own eyes begin to water as well.

"Colonel, you're probably going to be blaming yourself for this, but that just isn't so. That interrogator – that Worner – is the one responsible for Rodney's death, not you. Try to remember that." John didn't answer, just held the patch tight in his hand. Carson stood for along moment, wanting to offer the man comfort, but then sighed. Acceptance required time.

John shut his eyes, the coarse fabric of Rodney's patch clenched in his hand. As sleep began to overtake him, he remembered sitting in the cell, hearing Rodney's voice in his head.

_You need to escape. You need to live._

The first he had managed, with some help from his friends. But the second? Right now John didn't think he could feel any more empty – or any less alive.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Sacrifice

Chapter 11

John wandered aimlessly down the corridors of Atlantis. His stride was stiff and slow, his whip-scarred back causing him to move like an old man. Dr. Beckett had given him a small reprieve from his bed rest, allowing him to walk around for an hour or so. Grateful beyond belief, John had practically fallen out of the bed, slipped on a pair of floppy slippers and shuffled out of the infirmary.

He was alone. Relatively speaking, that is. He was in Atlantis, which meant that every few seconds he was passed by a scientist or a soldier, but Carson had allowed him to leave the medical wing without an escort. Once more, John was grateful to the physician. He needed to move, to think, to come to terms with Rodney's loss and try and deal with his grief.

Only a day had passed since he was rescued and brought home to the floating city. He had a couple of deep lashes on his back that required some stitches, and he was slightly malnourished and dehydrated, but other than that, he was recovering nicely. Teyla and Ronon had barely left his side, filling him in on their side of the story, and introducing him to Lisel. The old woman had expressed her sympathy at the loss of Rodney –a man she had never met – but John heard the sincerity in her voice.

Rodney. John couldn't get the image of the scientist's vacant blue eyes out of his memory. His cold hand. The grey of his skin. The sour gasp of his breath. Beaten and battered, cut and bleeding. And dying on the hard stone floor of a cell.

John paused before the open door to the lab, his eyes falling on the hunched form of Radek Zelenka. Teyla, Ronon and Elizabeth had been regular visitors, hardly leaving him alone to sleep. Radek, on the other hand, had not shown his face since John had related the facts of Rodney's death.

Sheppard stared at Zelenka's back, wanting to go in and talk with the scientist, but fear kept him in the hallway. He was afraid Radek blamed him for Rodney's death, afraid that the physicist would never forgive him for not protecting McKay when Rodney need protecting the most. He swayed a bit, one hand braced against the doorway, then turned and shuffled away. There would be time to talk to Zelenka later, when the hurt wasn't so fresh.

Minutes later, John found himself at Rodney's quarters. He stared at the closed doors for along moment, then sighed. With a thought, the doors opened and he staggered inside.

The room reeked of McKay. Papers, Ancient artifacts, candy wrappers and empty water bottles littered the three tables. A rumpled bed took up the center of the room, pillows jammed into the headboard. A half-eaten bag of chips was propped next to McKay's laptop. One wall – Rodney's wall of fame, John had joked – was covered with awards, certificates, plaques and degrees. The center was noticeably bare; Rodney had informed him that that was where his Nobel prize was going. When he won it.

John wearily sat down on one of the chairs. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of sweaty socks and stale food, listening to the silence, doing his best to accept that this man was gone forever. No more angry retorts, no more accusations of being a moron, no more complaints, criticisms or colorful conversations. Gone was McKay's egotism, arrogance and pettiness. So too his genius, his wicked, spot-on sense of humor, and his infrequent moments of actual kindness.

Emptiness engulfed Sheppard. He had lost friends before, in Afghanistan as well as here on Atlantis, but this was different. One moment he was furious, his rage directed at Worner, at himself, even at McKay. The next moment he felt like sobbing himself to sleep, wanting the release of tears, but refusing to break down in front of Carson and his staff. But most of the time, there was this bleakness, this disconnectedness, and it was swallowing him whole.

John had failed Rodney. Failed him as a teammate and failed him as friend. How many times had the ornery scientist put his own life on the line for Sheppard? It wasn't Rodney's job to protect John; his job was to think, to suggest, to cob together a broken jumper long enough for the team to escape. And, obnoxious or not, Rodney had always come through, had never let the team down. It was up to John, and Ronon and Teyla, to keep the scientist safe, to get him back to Atlantis so he could discover the next wonder, or the next threat.

They had become close. As a unit, the four teammates were unnaturally close, their bond reinforced by their many narrow escapes. Trust had been given, friendships made. And while the four could often be seen together, sharing a meal or just talking, Teyla and Ronon had naturally drifted together, both being off-worlders, both coming from similar backgrounds, dealing with the Wraith and the stargate all their lives. John was fully aware of the relationship developing between the Athosian and runner, and had decided to not interfere. There were bigger problems to worry about.

He snorted as he thought about something General O'Neill had said when John had returned to Earth last year. The General had related the story of how Dr. Jackson, a self-professed geek who detested violence, the complete opposite of the gung-ho, action-oriented soldier, had become O'Neill's best friend.

"Teal'c and I have more in common, but Daniel…I guess you could say he gave me balance." John had nodded at O'Neill's words. He completely understood. While he sometimes wished Rodney was more like the soft-spoken, polite Dr. Jackson, he often felt that McKay saw people and situations much differently than he did. His insight was often right on target, and John had learned to ignore the bluster and blather, and listen to the scientist.

From there it was only a matter of time until Rodney was grudgingly watching football videos with John, and Sheppard was being regaled about the wonders of ice hockey. Both men had shared bits and pieces from their pasts, gotten together to whump each other at chess and wondered about the growing relationship between Teyla and Ronon. Rodney teased John about being Captain Kirk, and John blasted Rodney about his failures in the dating department. Opposites. Teammates. Friends.

And, contrary to Carson's words, John knew it was his fault. He could have offered something to Worner – it would have taken time for the interrogator to realize that John had made something up. And Rodney might have lived, may have been given the medical treatment that he so desperately needed. But John had refused; Rodney had died. Action begets reaction.

The strange thing was that Rodney didn't feel dead. John knew this to be ridiculous; he had held the scientist's cold hand, seen him breathe his last breath, saw his eyes glaze over and lose their spark of life. But, still…..A tiny part of him believed that somewhere, somehow, Rodney McKay lived and breathed and complained.

It was utter nonsense. And he dared not tell anyone that he felt McKay was alive. They'd send him home for sure.

John got to his feet. In one hand he still carried the torn patch, his fingers rubbing the fabric, tracing the outline of the maple leaf. Carson was sure to be looking for him by now, and everyone would be worried. He half expected Ronon to come charging into the room, swoop him up and carry him back to the infirmary.

He opened the door, turning back one last time to look around the room. The heavy weight of sorrow and loss overwhelmed him once more, and he wondered if maybe he should return to Earth for a little while. Putting that thought on the back burner, he shuffled down the hallway.

oOo

He was warm. That was nice. The sheets could have been a little softer – they scratched something terrible – but Rodney McKay wasn't going to be choosy. For once. Instead, he nestled into the comfort of the bed, wondering when Carson was going to come by and start hassling him about nearly getting killed again.

But – didn't he die? The physicist frowned in his sleep, only a small segment of his conscious mind working. He remembered John, leaning down and holding his hand, and John looked so….lost. Yes, that was it. Defeated, almost. The Colonel was pleading with him to just hang on, that help was coming soon, but Rodney knew it was too late. He may have been a hypochondriac, but even he knew when he was dying. The pain he had felt for the last four days was gone, replaced by complete numbness. He could barely feel John's warm hand in his, could barely crack open his eyes to look one more time on his friend.

They had spoken. Rodney had made sure that he told Sheppard the truth. After all, John was his best friend, and he deserved the truth. And the truth was that Rodney was grateful for their friendship, that he was glad it was Sheppard who was with him as he died.

Rodney hadn't wanted to die. But it was so hard to breath. He could taste the blood in his mouth, feel his broken ribs as they pierced his lung, hear the ringing in his ears. Everything had seemed so distant, so detached. Everything but Sheppard.

So, he had given up. It almost felt good, in a way. Dying was frightening, true, but with Sheppard there to hold his hand, his strong presence reassuring – in the end, apparently, it hadn't been that bad after all. The sheets could be a little softer, but, all in all, being dead was far better than being dragged down that stone hallway to be whipped and taunted. Rodney shuddered inwardly as he thought of Worner, and the glee on the man's face every time his rotten henchman cracked the whip.

"He's coming around," a strange voice said. Rodney ignored it, still wanting to rest, still trying to come to terms with the fact that he was dead _(was he?)_. Obviously, he hadn't made it to heaven, but since he was a non-believer in all things religious, then that was par for the course. But, still, he thought death would at least feel at little different, be a little more mystical or enlightening or something. Bummer.

"How long until he's awake?" a familiar voice asked, and Rodney felt his body clench. Was that Worner? No no no. He was dead! He had managed to escape from that sadist _(hadn't he?)._ Yanked from his reverie, McKay felt a sharp pinprick, and realized that he had been injected with something. The first tendrils of panic took hold, and he started to become more aware, more alert.

"A couple of hours maybe. He's still in rough shape. I don't recommend that you question him right away." The first voice moved away from McKay, his voice growing distant. Rodney remained still and silent, fighting the fog in his mind, trying to surface, to awaken, so he could see, so he could know…..did he die? Or was it all just a horrible nightmare?

Worner stared down at the semi-conscious figure lying on the bed, taking in the small twitches and tics of Rodney's muscles as the sedatives wore off. The chief interrogator had lost Sheppard, the Colonel's people finally arriving in time to rescue him. He had watched as his interrogation center had been destroyed. But, they had left McKay behind, unaware that the physicist still lived.

The Wraith were on their way, and Worner had no choice but to turn McKay over to them. If he didn't, the Wraith would capture and kill all of the people on the planet, annihilating an entire race. At least if he surrendered McKay, only the cullings would continue, allowing a few of Worner's people to survive.

Worner leaned down close to McKay's ear, his eyes searching the battered form for any movement.

"Dr. McKay, your friends have abandoned you. The Wraith will be here shortly, and I will turn you over to them. Perhaps they can get the information they want from you. Nevertheless, your brief respite from agony will soon be over. Enjoy it while you can." Worner paused for a long moment, then slowly turned and walked away.

Rodney McKay lay on the bed, his hands and feet bound, his body still badly beaten. His eyes were closed, and his breathing calm, but inside he was quaking with fear. The Wraith! He wasn't dead? And where was Sheppard? They had left him here – alone? Deep down inside, McKay felt a horrific scream building, one that he knew he couldn't release out loud. With every fiber of his being, he focused his thoughts, focused his fear and pain, focused it into one silent plea that he bellowed with his mind:

**_HELP ME_**!

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Sacrifice

Chapter 12

**HELP ME!**

John burst awake, his back screaming in protest as he sat straight up in bed. Disoriented, he glanced around, taking in the many beds, the medical equipment, the smell of antiseptic. He was in the medical wing.

Sheppard ran a shaking hand over his face, feeling the rough stubble. He had refused Carson's offer of a sleep aid, tossing and turning for what seemed like hours before exhaustion had finally taken its toll, and he had fallen into a deep sleep. He didn't remember dreaming, only sinking into oblivion, all his worries and heartache finally fading away.

Rodney. Rodney's cry for help had awakened him. But, McKay was gone, his body in parts unknown, the man just a memory now. Tomorrow there would be a memorial service for the physicist, then his personal effects would be boxed up, his quarters cleaned out, and life would carry on. Still – John had heard him, heard the desperation in his voice, the fear. Could the call have come from McKay? But that was insane.

John dropped his legs over the side of the bed, his body still trembling. Blindly feeling for his slippers with his feet, he managed to stand and shrug into a robe. Breathing a sigh, he carefully shuffled to the sink and silently turned on the cold water. Splashing his face, he groped for a towel, hearing soft footsteps behind him. Thinking it was the night-duty nurse, he didn't turn around, just leaned against the sink with his eyes closed.

"Sheppard." John turned, taking in Ronon's stern façade. The runner was dressed as if for battle, completely geared up in his off-world uniform. In the dim light of the infirmary, he could see the lines of tension around the runner's mouth. John wondered if Ronon had slept at all.

"Ronon. What's up?" John pushed himself away from the sink, the memory of Rodney's call still vivid in his ears. He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was three a.m.

"I heard….something," Ronon said hesitantly. John's head snapped up, his eyes searching the runner's face more closely. His perusal was interrupted by the arrival of Elizabeth and Teyla, both women agitated.

"Colonel, shouldn't you be in bed?" Elizabeth chided half-heartedly. Like Ronon, both she and Teyla had donned their daily uniforms, and suddenly John felt underdressed.

"What did you hear Ronon?" John asked, ignoring his boss and his teammate, needing to know the answer.

Ronon shifted from one foot to the other, then crossed his arms over his chest.

Finally, with three sets of eyes staring expectantly at him, he gave a snort.

"I heard McKay. He was calling for help." John swayed, barely hearing both Elizabeth and Teyla gasp in shock. One look at their faces revealed that they, too, had been awakened by McKay's words. John hadn't been dreaming; he really had heard Rodney's voice. But – that was impossible!

The scientist had died. John had seen it. And even if the interrogators had somehow revived McKay, he was light-years away from Atlantis. How could they hear him call for help?

John decided he didn't care. Nor was he surprised when Dr. Beckett came flying into the infirmary, his blue eyes wild and distraught. He stopped short at seeing the others, his gaze taking in their confused faces.

"It can't be….." Carson whispered.

Elizabeth interrupted him. "Colonel Sheppard, do you have any idea what's going on here?" She began to pace, her face set, her eyes troubled. John started walking to his bed, then stopped. Making up his mind, he turned to Teyla and Ronon.

"Fire up the jumper. And get Lorne out of bed. We can use the backup." Ronon nodded once, and with Teyla on his heels, trotted out the door, a look of supreme satisfaction on his face.

"John! You're in no shape to go anywhere! Dr. Beckett, tell him …." Elizabeth trailed away, seeing the determination on Sheppard's face. She stood her ground as he leaned in close, his eyes boring into hers.

"We heard Rodney. All of us! I don't care if you think it's a shared hallucination or wishful thinking or just indigestion. I heard him, Teyla and Ronon heard him – hell, even Carson heard him. And I'm guessing you were yanked awake by his cry for help as well. Am I right?" John watched as she froze, then gave a barely perceptible nod. He grimaced, then limped out the door, heading to his quarters. He needed to change.

"John." Elizabeth grabbed him by the arm. "You don't even know where he is. We destroyed the interrogation center, remember? We searched for the four of you for days, and never found anything. What makes you think you'll find him now?"

John resisted the urge to yank his arm free from her grasp. Instead, he stepped up his pace, making the expedition leader lengthen her stride to keep up. All his pain and soreness disappeared, replaced with a renewed sense of hope. They had heard McKay. It was a call that John couldn't ignore.

"Carson, go and wake up Lisel. Explain that we need some information. Better yet, ask her if she would mind coming with us." Carson, who had tagged along behind John and Elizabeth silently, his face screwed up in thought, turned without a word, disappearing down a side corridor.

They reached John's quarters, and he slowly spun to face Dr. Weir. "I need to do this, Elizabeth. Rodney was a member of my team and I left him behind." When she opened her mouth to protest, he raised one hand, effectively cutting off her words. "Yeah, I thought he was dead. I _swore_ he was dead. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe Worner's people managed to bring him back – I don't know. All I know is that I heard him tonight – and he was calling for help. So, I'm going. I would appreciate your support." He stopped, silently waiting as she mulled his words over in her head.

Finally, she sighed. "I hope to God you're right John. Just do me a favor and don't get dead yourself, okay?" He managed a tight grin, and gently rubbed her arm.

"Understood, Dr. Weir. Now, if you would excuse me, I need to get dressed."

oOo

Rodney McKay refused to open his eyes. Oh, he knew it was childish and immature, but it prevented him from taking in the nightmare surrounding him.

He thought he had died. And it had been such a noble death, too. He finally – _finally_ – got to out-hero Sheppard, got to say some truly touching words to his bereaved friend, and then gently fade into eternity. Maybe his death had come a little earlier than he expected – by say, oh, forty years or more – but, still, he thought, for all intents and purposes, it was a good death. Or so he thought.

Hah! The joke was on him. Not only was he not dead, but he was still a prisoner of that slime-ball Worner. He had heard the man's insidious voice at his ear, whispering the words that Rodney feared the most: Wraith. In a matter of hours, he would be turned over to the Wraith, to be questioned, to be eaten. Either option had it's downside, although being eaten alive definitely had the edge on the gross factor.

Rodney had been terrified at Worner's words, so terrified that his mind had issued an unholy scream for help. Fat lot of good that was going to do. He was trussed up on this bed like a turkey, waiting for the vampires of the Pegasus galaxy to come and suck his life away. Who was going to help him now?

After his initial panic, Rodney had gradually overcome his terror and confusion, his mind examining the problem more clearly as the tranquilizers wore off. The pain of his wounds returned as well, and he found that it was necessary to remain completely still in order to prevent any searing agony from ricocheting throughout his body.

Where was Sheppard? For a brief moment, he feared that John had been killed, tortured to death as well. His emotions at the thought took him by surprise: rage and a deep, bottomless sorrow. Momentarily paralyzed, he shoved that thought away. Instead, he focused on the interrogator's words. Worner had said McKay had been left behind, which meant that help had finally come – just like John said it would. Only they had probably thought he was dead – hell, he thought he had died, so he really couldn't blame them for their mistake. But, the truth was, he did.

After all, they had sensors on board the jumpers, right? Couldn't they pick up his signal, his DNA signature? Rodney simmered and stewed for a while on this issue, swearing that if he managed to get out of this one, he would be sure to let everyone know how unhappy he was at their complete inability to locate one gravely injured physicist who just happened to save their butts time and again. This was the thanks he got.

"Dr. McKay. We know you're awake." Worner's cold voice pried into Rodney's thoughts, and the physicist stifled a sigh. Here we go again.

Worner's dark eyes stared into the defiant blue gaze of the scientist. McKay had been in hospital for more than twenty-four hours now, but his face was still badly swollen. No treatment for his wounds had been offered, only painkillers and tranquilizers to keep him asleep. Now, beyond the challenge in McKay's eyes there was pain and fever.

"Get up. The Wraith will be here within minutes," Worner ordered. Rodney kept his eyes on the interrogator as his hands and feet were released, the small movements causing bursts of agony in his chest and back.

Worner's eyes remained emotionless as Rodney was yanked to his feet. The scientist cried out in pain, sagging immediately as his legs buckled. Two guards struggled to carry the scientist between them.

"Take him to the landing strip." Worner watched as they dragged McKay away, his failure at breaking the physicist gnawing at his insides. Still, he had to admire the man. He was tenacious, impossible to crack, someone Worner wished he had on his own staff. Oh well. He would probably have killed McKay anyway; the man was really quite rude, and Worner's patience was limited. With another long glare at the scientist's retreating figure suspended between the two guards, he shook his head, then strode from the room. He needed to greet the Wraith, not stand here and ponder the fortitude of the enemy.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Sacrifice

Chapter 13

John accelerated the jumper as it burst through the stargate, Lorne's ship right on his tail. Immediately he cloaked the ship, hoping to keep surprise on their side. He was a bit worried; the first time he had dialed P6D-358, he had gotten a galactic busy signal. That meant someone else was using the gate; that someone else might very well be the Wraith.

Major Lorne's voice crackled in his headset. "Colonel Sheppard, we're scanning for Dr. McKay, but we're still getting nothing but static."

Lisel spoke up from her seat in the rear of the ship. "I'm sure you're being jammed. The interrogators have that technology." John nodded at her words, banking the jumper to the left and hitting the accelerator again. If his suspicions were true, and the Wraith were here, they needed to find Rodney – fast.

Within minutes, they were hovering over the destroyed remnants of the interrogation building. A portion of the building remained standing; John noticed it was the area built into the mountain, the area where his cell had been. Small wisps of smoke still drifted here and there, but there was no sign of life. John looked at Lisel as she moved forward, her hands pointing towards a large stone structure in the distance.

"That is the hospital. You're friend may be there," she advised. John nodded once, his eyes analyzing the building as they grew nearer. Suddenly, Ronon let out a sharp yell.

"Wraith!" John followed Ronon's hand, and frowned at the three Wraith ships, currently grounded. Thinking quickly, he steered the invisible craft towards a small stand of trees about two hundred meters from the hospital. The grounds were unusually empty for a busy hospital, the arrival of the Wraith sending most of the personnel into hiding.

"Major Lorne, we're going in to search the building. Stay put until we come out. If the Wraith try to leave, destroy their ships before they get airborne. Understood?" Lorne keyed his radio, acknowledging Sheppard's orders. Hope-fully, Rodney wasn't already dematerialized and stored in one of the Wraith ships. Either way, they couldn't allow the Wraith to escape, especially if they had McKay. He may have withstood Worner's interrogation, but John wasn't certain if the scientist could bear being questioned by the Wraith.

John landed the jumper, then, with a quick "Stay here" to Lisel, he and his team ran down the ramp, taking cover behind the trees. With a few quick hand motions, he sent Teyla to the right, and Ronon to the left. John, moving a little more slowly due to his injuries, skirted the tree line and headed straight for the Wraith ships. He needed to see if McKay had already been captured and stored by the Wraith beam.

He dropped to his knees, hiding behind one of the darts as two guards exited the building, carrying someone between them. McKay! Enormous relief coursed through Sheppard, and he briefly closed his eyes against the emotion. There would be time to be thankful later; right now, he needed to get to Rodney, and as quietly as possible.

Any attempt at silence was ruined, however, as Worner came barreling through the doors, followed by the three Wraith. Biting back a curse, John searched the area, spotting Teyla and Ronon almost immediately. Both off-worlders had their weapons trained on the Wraith, waiting for John's order. He took aim himself, then with a sharp nod, squeezed the trigger.

Rodney McKay was barely conscious, but he was alert enough to know that someone was shooting at them. He let out a small, "Oooof," as the two guards abruptly dropped their human cargo and raced for cover. McKay, his face scraping along the dirt and pebbles, turned to see what was going on. Screams of anger and panic echoed around him, along with the pounding of footsteps as more guards emerged from the hospital.

"Must be my rescue," he thought distantly, then dark spots started to shimmer before his eyes. He collapsed into a heap, unaware that John was merely ten feet away.

Sheppard blasted his P-90 again, sweeping the area above Rodney, trying to prevent the last remaining Wraith from grabbing the unconscious scientist. He swore as he saw Worner barking orders at his guards, most of them armed with the stunner weapons John had encountered in the cell.

"Lorne! Take out the building! I'm going for McKay!" John yelled into his headset. A moment later, twin missiles blasted into the building, causing a massive explosion. John ran over to McKay, protecting the physicist with his body from the debris that rained down.

"Sheppard! Are you okay?" Suddenly, Ronon there, yanking at John's arm, and turning him over. Momentarily dazed, John only nodded. He felt strong hands grab at his arms, and then he was on his feet, Teyla steadying him. Ronon reached down and carefully lifted Rodney, his eyes taking in the scientist's battered condition.

"Get to the jumper!" John shoved at Ronon, who ran off, the physicist bouncing over his shoulder. Teyla followed, her gun laying down cover fire. John staggered behind them, his ears still ringing from the blast, his body starting to weaken. The smoke and the ash of the burning building made it difficult to see, and he slowed as he picked his way towards the jumper.

_Bam_! John fell to his knees, his back screaming in agony. He managed to raise his head, and his eyes widened as he recognized Worner. The interrogator had grabbed up a broken piece of wood, and had smashed it into John's back as the soldier ran by. Now, with a horrible grin, he raised the wood again, ready to smash it into John's head.

Sheppard summoned all his remaining strength, and rolled away from Worner, the wood barely missing his skull as it smashed down. As he rolled, he brought up his P-90 and tugged on the trigger. He watched as the bullets rammed into Worner, jerking his body like an out-of-control puppet. The interrogator fell to the ground, his cold eyes now lifeless. Panting heavily to regain his breath, John allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, then struggled back to his feet.

Twenty seconds later, he was back on the jumper, meeting the concerned eyes of Lisel as he strode towards the pilot's chair. The woman was leaning over McKay, her face ashen.

"Colonel, he needs immediate help." John only nodded as the ship soared into the air. He banked right, then launched a missile at the last remaining Wraith ship. It exploded in a brilliant ball of fire.

"Ronon, dial the gate. We're going home….all of us."

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Sacrifice

Chapter 14

Ronon took one of Lisel's small hands in his, then leaned forward and gently kissed her dry cheek. The older woman was returning to her world, refusing Dr. Weir's offer to remain on Atlantis.

"I need to return to my home," she replied. "I don't believe that anyone knew of my involvement with you, so I will be safe. And there are still slaves to set free. It's what I do, after all." Ronon had merely nodded, unable to express his gratitude to the woman. She was the reason they were all here. He owed her his life, as well as the lives of his teammates.

Teyla Emmagen stepped forward, bowing her head. "Thank you, Lisel. You will be in our thoughts." Lisel smiled at the Athosian leader, then gave her a quick wink.

"Keep an eye on that one," she teased, inclining her head towards the runner. Teyla grinned back, and returned the woman's wink.

"Lisel, if you ever need anything, dial this address, and tell the men you meet who you are," Elizabeth said as she handed the woman a small piece of paper with the alpha-site address. Lisel accepted the paper, cramming it into her pocket. The two women embraced, then Lisel stepped away, walking regally towards the event horizon. A moment later, she was gone.

Elizabeth turned towards the technician, her voice stern. "Remove P6D-358 from our dialing system." The technician nodded, her hands flying over the computer.

Ronon gave Elizabeth a nod, then turned, heading towards the gym, Teyla by his side. McKay was awake, and Sheppard had been released, but Ronon knew that the Colonel was bound to be at McKay's side, and Ronon had a suspicion that the teammates needed some time alone. So, he and Teyla would spar for awhile, maybe catch some lunch together, then wander down to the infirmary and check on their friends. He smiled inwardly; things were finally returning to normal on Atlantis.

oOo

Dr. Carson Beckett was peering intently at his computer screen, a small frown on his face. He hen-pecked at the keyboard, never having mastered the ability to type. He looked up as Radek Zelenka cautiously knocked on his door.

"Dr. Zelenka! Can I help you?" Carson immediately focused his attention on the Czech physicist. He had been expecting Radek, expecting him to visit the infirmary ever since Rodney had been rescued four days ago. The fact that Radek had remained distant, only inquiring about McKay's recovery, and never actually seeing Rodney, let Carson know that there was something much bigger going on.

The teams had returned from P6D-358, the jumpers speeding in from the event horizon, Sheppard barely allowing the ship to land in the jumper bay before he was yelling for Carson and his team. Beckett had taken one look at Rodney and nearly passed out; the man was a wreck.

Ten hours, fifty-five stitches and one lung repair later, not to mention four units of blood, and Carson was able to assure them that Rodney would probably live.

The relief on John's face – who had retaken up residence in one of Beckett's infirmary beds – was monumental. He sagged into his pillow, grabbing at Elizabeth's hand, and doing his best to not collapse into tears. Emotional outbursts were not his thing; that territory belonged to McKay. Dr. Weir wore a stunned look on her face, unable to believe that McKay's call for help had been real. As for Ronon and Teyla, after hearing that Rodney would live to complain another day, they both retreated to their quarters to finally get some sleep.

And so, things had started to return to normal. Rodney woke up briefly on day two, gazed blearily at Carson, gave his familiar know-it-all smirk, then fell back asleep. On the third day, he asked for Sheppard, and wouldn't relax until John had staggered out of his bed and leaned over the agitated scientist, reassuring him that they were both okay. Rodney only nodded, said something like, "It took you long enough," and promptly went back to sleep. John and Carson had exchanged amused smiles at that one.

Now, on day four, Rodney was sitting up, still extremely weak, but recovering quite nicely, in Carson's opinion. He had asked for something to eat, and was breathing easily. Sheppard, released this morning, had returned, grabbing a chair. He and Rodney were speaking softly, the physicist unusually subdued.

And here was Dr. Zelenka. Carson cleared his throat, one eye on the two teammates outside, and the other on the Czech. Radek squirmed, then, with a shrug, came in and sat on one of the hard-back chairs.

"I heard him," Radek said abruptly. Carson leaned back in his chair, the mystery of Radek's absence now crystal clear. The doctor remained quiet, knowing that Radek needed to work this out himself.

Zelenka looked into Carson's face, his own expression morose. "I heard Rodney call for help that night, Carson, and I did nothing!" Radek had blasted out of bed, his own uneasy slumber ruined by the sound of Rodney's cry. The physicist had remained in his room, pacing nervously, unable to sleep, unaware that the teams had already left in response to McKay's plea.

Still, Beckett remained silent. He had confronted his own doubts about what he heard that night, doubts that were dashed when the team returned with the barely-alive scientist. Carson had pondered the event for days, finally deciding that there were some things that just would never be explained.

"If it had been up to me, Rodney would have died. I failed him," Radek muttered.

He closed his eyes, his hands trembling slightly.

"Radek, let me ask you something. If the situation had been reversed, if you were the one calling for help, and your call woke Rodney up from a sound sleep, do you think Rodney would have believed it?" Carson asked gently.

Radek mulled this over for a few moments, then nodded his head. "Yes. Rodney goes with gut more times than people think. May not be logical, but he would have acted."

Carson nodded; he agreed. Rodney's true genius wasn't just in his mind; it was in his instincts. It was something that Sheppard had recognized immediately, resulting in the addition of McKay as a member of SGA-1, and the formation of a deep friendship between the two men.

"You were with McKay in Russia. If the situation had happened then, would he have acted in the same manner?" Again, Carson watched as Radek considered his question. This time the scientist shook his head.

"No. Rodney is different now. More…..emotional, but in good way."

Carson leaned forward. "Radek, you and Rodney are men of science. You are trained to look for concrete evidence, for facts, for data. What happened the other night had no basis in science, it made no sense. To hear anyone call for help across a galaxy is…..well, I would have said it was impossible. For you to acknowledge that you heard him goes against everything you, as a scientist, stand for."

Radek just looked sad. "But, you said Rodney would have acted, although he is scientist also."

Carson nodded. "Rodney has changed, Radek. His time here on Atlantis, with you and Sheppard – with all of us – has made him a different man. Don't get me wrong – he's still obnoxious as hell, but he is also more willing to accept the illogical." This time Radek was nodding, listening intently as Carson continued.

"You still hold fast to your beliefs, your training, Radek, and that isn't wrong. It's who you are. You cannot blame yourself for being yourself, man. And Rodney understands this. You didn't fail him; you were true to yourself."

Radek sat in silence for a long moment, absorbing Carson's kind words. Finally, he heaved a heavy sigh. "I suppose you're right." He stood up, then gave a half-smile to the doctor. "Thank you, Carson. You're good doctor…and good friend."

Carson waved a hand in dismissal. "Now go and visit Rodney. He's been asking for you." Radek's eyes widened at that statement, then he frowned.

"That can't be good," he muttered.

oOo

"Rodney, you awake?" John asked softly. He shifted in the hard chair, his back still stiff and sore from the whippings and the hit from Worner. Rodney was sitting up, leaning against a couple of pillows, his blue eyes closed, his breathing soft and regular. At John's inquiry, he gave a smirk, sighed, then reopened his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm awake," he replied. He grimaced as he shifted, clamping one hand to his broken ribs. He had been listening to John's version of what happened, getting details on Ronon and Teyla's introduction to the slave trade, and the rescue at the hospital. John's voice had trailed away, and Rodney knew his friend had something on his mind.

"Okay, Sheppard, what's up? Everyone's been acting really weird." A thought suddenly occurred to Rodney, and he sat up, exhaling harshly as pain ripped through him. "I'm not going to die, am I? That's just so unfair…." Rodney felt panic take hold, and John reached out and placed a reassuring hand on his arm.

"No, you're going to be fine, McKay." The Colonel paused for along moment, then whispered, "We heard you, you know."

Rodney stared in confusion at John. Heard him? What was he talking about?

John watched bewilderment flow across McKay's face. "We heard you call for help," he explained. "You screamed out 'Help me' and we – me, Elizabeth, Ronon, Teyla, Carson – we all heard you. Here. On Atlantis. That's why we came to get you." John stopped talking, as Rodney's confusion became disbelief, then shock. The man was a terrible poker player, his emotions cascading across his face all the time.

"Impossible," Rodney whispered half-heartedly. "I mean, how?" His logical mind sought to find a reason, but he knew there was no way his silent plea could have traveled across the vast expanse of a galaxy, to be heard by the people who cared for him the most. It was…..impossible.

John just shook his head. He didn't care how. The end result was that McKay was here, alive, and that was all that mattered. Sheppard took a furtive look around the room, and, seeing they were alone, decided that now was the time.

"I heard you in the cell, too. After you had…died. You told me…"John's voice caught, his emotions strong with memory. "You told me I had to escape, that I had to live." He didn't tell Rodney that he had been decimated, that his guilt over failing Rodney had nearly strangled him.

McKay remained silent, an alarming sign. He stared hard at Sheppard, seeing the truth on his face. He had told John to escape, to live? Rodney remembered lying in the hospital bed, crying out for help, but he had no memory of advising Sheppard…after he was dead? He suppressed a shudder.

"Colonel….." Rodney swallowed, feeling his fatigue start to creep up on him,

"I mean, John….maybe you thought it was me, but it was really your own subconscious…." Rodney trailed off, seeing Sheppard shake his head.

"It was you," he stated, his voice firm. "And I want to thank you. After you had died, I was…..I wasn't myself," John said. He kept his gaze on the scientist, knowing this would probably be the first and last time he would be able to confront Rodney about their friendship. He took in a long shaky breath, closing his eyes.

"Your voice…and it was you…told me to get up, to stay alive. I had just watched you die, and I was…numb. I couldn't believe that I had failed you, that I let you die……" John stopped, unable to continue, his eyes shifting from Rodney's intense gaze.

A few moments passed, then Rodney heaved a sigh, wincing as his damaged lung protested. "John, you have never failed me. Ever. There was absolutely nothing you could have done to save me – at that time, anyway - so stop beating yourself up over it."

Sheppard listened to Rodney's words, appreciating their intent but knowing that it would be along time before he came to terms with his inaction. He felt Rodney lean forward, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Still friends?" the physicist asked.

John looked up, his gratitude stark on his face. With a nod, he got to his feet, his hand automatically slipping into his front pants pocket, his fingers rubbing against the rough fabric of Rodney's jacket patch. John had thought to return the patch to McKay, but it had become a sort of talisman to him, a reminder that he had almost lost his best friend. Now, he didn't leave his quarters without it, using it as a reminder that it was his job to protect Atlantis, protect the people who had become his family, protect them no matter what the cost to himself.

"Always," he replied softly. He saw Rodney give his familiar half-smirk, then the scientist wearily closed his eyes and groaned. Radek Zelenka had approached cautiously, his hands twisting together nervously. John stepped back, wanting to give the two men time to catch up.

"Dr. Zelenka, have a seat. I was just leaving," John said. He turned stiffly from the bed, ambling slowly away, listening to Rodney grill poor Radek on the events in the lab while he was gone. Radek's sputtered replies gradually increased in both volume and intensity, his own voice becoming sharp with anger. As he exited the infirmary, John suppressed a grin as Zelenka's voice suddenly tumbled out of English and into angry Czech, vying to be heard over McKay's sharp retorts.

Yup – things were certainly back to normal here on Atlantis.

The End


End file.
